Oh for the hand that has raised,
that has haunted.
The forcing of flies
through this carrion heart.
Everyone is lost,
not just those you have found.
You found them in photographs,
buried underground.
Confessing all to time,
conceding time to all.
This murderous reproach,
of "every time we fall".
Tearing every tormented second apart,
eating at the meat from your tick-tock heart.
The Thrones in your heart start taking stock,
stop all the wounded time lapse clocks,
then,
open
the
locks.
Let me in
let me in,
little piggy,
let me in,
where you end
and where I begin
-
Author:
Yorke (
Offline) - Published: December 22nd, 2016 17:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 41
Offline)
Comments1
Interesting enigmatic poem. "Where You end i begin", the machine like quality to the heart, the raised hand----lead me to suspect the end of an abusive relationship. Thanks for an interesting read and well constructed poem.
Thank you for your reply, I appreciate you reading. Sorry about the delay in my acknowledgement:)
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